


By blade or blood

by LynyrdLionheart



Series: A Wolf in Dorne [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, big things happen at Harrenhal, that's just how it works pre-GoT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynyrdLionheart/pseuds/LynyrdLionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oberyn catches Lyanna sparring, corrects her form, and realizes she is the woman he will marry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By blade or blood

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr prompt for OberynxLyanna sparring.

He just wants to escape the madness of Harrenhal and all the Northerners that have gathered for the tournament – and to a Dornishman, all of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms is north, so there are _many_ Northerners to avoid. 

                And that is how he stumbles upon one of the few true Northerners at the tournament.

                He had seen Lyanna Stark, of course.  She was a fierce, pretty little thing, with grey Stark eyes and pale skin, so very different from Oberyn’s own swarthy tone.  It was difficult to miss her, not just because of how lovely she was, but also because of the way Robert Baratheon followed her about like a forlorn puppy.  If he didn’t feel such distaste for the braggart, Oberyn would almost pity Baratheon.  For while he looked at Lyanna so longingly, the smiles she gave him in return never quite reached his eyes, always seemed to just be for her brother, Eddard’s, benefit.

                So, Oberyn had noticed her, because she was pretty and because Baratheon followed her about, but he honestly hadn’t given her much thought.  She was a Northerner, and all northern ladies held an innate… _weakness_ that could never quite hold Oberyn’s attention.  They were taught to be meek and docile, traits Oberyn wanted in neither his bed nor his life.

                But as she was just then, Lyanna Stark was no fainting lady.

                He wondered, who she imagined the tree she was striking to be.  She held the sword tightly, striking with fierce, precise strikes.  For a moment, Oberyn allowed himself to admire her figure in the breeches and tunic that any other northern lady would faint to be seen in; he allowed himself to admire her as a man was meant to admire a woman. 

                Then his gaze took on a more calculative look.

                Her form was strong, but flawed.  Someone had obviously taught her the correct way to hold a sword, but hadn’t continued much beyond that.  Her legs here just a little too close together, her back just a little too rigid.  But there was talent there – raw and untutored, but very much present.

                With some tutoring… He watched as she gave a spin, a feint, and then hit the tree on the right with a powerful, two-handed swipe.

                With some tutoring, she would be _spectacular_.

                He hadn’t thought beyond that musing, hadn’t been watching her with the thought to become that tutor, yet as she spun again, he found himself approaching her.  She whirled, and he was there, catching her arms so that her back was to her chest and holding her still.

                “What-” he felt her grow tense, try to pull away from him to attack, but he held her in place.  He used his feet to kick hers further apart and could almost feel the confusion in her tense, vibrating form.

                “Your legs were too close together,” he said, and found himself almost surprised when he realized how short she was, not quit reaching his shoulders.  She’d been so fierce, wielding the sword with single-minded purpose, and the force of her nature had made her appear… _larger_.

                “Thank-you, m’lord,” Lyanna replied, her voice stiff, and Oberyn bit back a smile at the sound.  He could hear the pride in her voice, pride that warred with the advice he had given her, but he noticed that she kept her feet in the position.

                “And bend your knees a little, brace yourself.  You’ll be able to strike harder, to fend off strikes thrown your way. You need to relax.  Your muscles are too tense.”

                “I wonder why,” Lyanna muttered darkly, and Oberyn chuckled into her ear as he adjusted her grip on the sword. 

                “And it’s not m’lord,” he added when he was happy with her grip and stance.  He remained next to her as she looked down the length of her sword with a narrow-eyed expression.  “It’s your highness.  Now, strike.”

                She took a step forward, swung at the tree, and he could see there was more strength in the movement now, that she looked more fluid.  But not as good as she could.

                “You’re still too tense!” he called at her back, and then found himself taking a startled step back when she swung around, held her sword with a steady grip at his throat.

                “Strange men sneaking up on me have that effect… _your highness_.”

                He had heard her called the She-wolf, just as her elder brother was the Wild-Wolf.  He had thought she looked fierce and wild when he stepped into the clearing.  But this was the first time he had experienced the bite of her teeth himself.

                It rather took his breath away.

                She looked up at him with grey eyes that seemed to almost glow, her teeth bared in snarling mockery of a smile.  Strands of hair that had been pulled back in a braid had come loose to float around her face.  Oberyn had always thought women north of Dorne to be fragile, delicate things… but Lyanna Stark looked anything but fragile.

                She looked like a fierce warrior queen, straight out of the stories of his childhood.  Nymeria given human form. 

                “Why are you looking at me like that?” Lyanna demanded, and Oberyn was reminded that though she was fierce, she was also innocent.  Not at all the type of woman that the Red Viper pursued. 

                But Doran had always cursed him for a reckless fool, and innocent or not, Oberyn wanted her fire.

                “Tomorrow morning,” he said softly, pushing her sword away from his throat with the back of his hand.  Lyanna was curious enough to allow him to do so, and he took a step forward, twining one of those loose strands of hair around his finger.  The darkness of it was a stark contrast to her snow pale skin, and Oberyn thought it a striking sight.  “Be here, Lady Lyanna.  You have potential, but you’ll never know it continuing on like this.”

                Then he released her hair and left the clearing before he did something that ventured beyond reckless and into idiocy.

\---

                When he returned to the clearing the next morning, he half expected it to be empty.  He wondered if he would be the fool, showing up in such a place dressed for sparring, spear in hand, and thought that perhaps it would be a blessing.  If Lady Lyanna didn’t answer his challenge, he’d know that the weak heart of a northerner lurked beneath her fierce surface, would be able to forget her.

                But when he entered the clearing, there she stood in tunic and breeches once more, naked sword in hand.

                “You came,” he commented, unable to disguise his surprise.

                “You told me to,” Lyanna reminded him, eyeing the spear with some curiosity.  “I’ve heard stories about you, from my brothers.  You and that spear.”

                He felt a grin quirk his lips as he looked down at her, her gaze remaining determinedly on the spear.  He thought of the stories she would of heard, of him and his spear and how he had been named the Red Viper.

                “It’s clean,” he said, and then held it out so the tip pointed at her.  “Check for yourself.”

                “I’ll take your word for it,” Lyanna replied, eyeing the metal somewhat dubiously and keeping a careful distance, and Oberyn threw his head back and laughed.  

                “Don’t tell me that a wolf fears a viper,” he said, and Lyanna’s expression turned to a scowl.  Before Oberyn could react, she stepped forward and grabbed the shaft of the spear, ran her finger along the carefully honed metal of its tip.  Once again she shocked him as he saw the trail of red left on his spear, and she stemmed the flow of blood from the shallow cut with her shirt.

                “A wolf fears _nothing_ ,” she told him with a determined expression, turning away to move towards the center of the clearing.

                The previous day, Oberyn had mused that he wanted her fire.  Today, he decided, he wanted her courage.  He followed after her, eyeing her critically as she took her position.  He gave an approving nod when he saw that kept her feet carefully spaced, just as he had shown her.  He adjusted her grip again, but noted that it was much closer to correct than it had been before. 

                “Relax,” he murmured from behind her, running a hand down her spine.  It had the opposite effect, and he heard her breath catch, and it made him smirk as he kept his lips next to her ear.  “If I didn’t know better, Lady Lyanna, I would think I made you uncomfortable.”

                “But you do know better,” she replied, her voice catching as she spoke when Oberyn’s lips grazed her ear before he pulled back.  “Very little makes me uncomfortable.”

                “I suppose that must be true,” Oberyn agreed, coming back around to take his own position, watching her critically as she held still.  “Betrothed to Robert Baratheon as you are, you must have a great tolerance for the uncomfortable.”

                The quick flare in her eyes, the tightening of her lips, was all the warning he got before Lyanna attacked, her sword coming down with surprising force for such a small creature.  Oberyn blocked it with his spear, and gave a surprised laugh as he whirled away.  She whirled as well, her smaller stature giving her superior speed, and attacked once more.

                “Hit a sensitive spot, did I?” he asked with a chuckle as he blocked once more, and then made his own counter attack.  It was a barrage of strikes that he kept controlled, watching her stance and style as she blocked each hit.  “Your defense is clumsy, Lyanna.  You need to correct your grip.”         

                She was a quick learner, he noted, as she adjusted her grip as he’d shown her, and blocked his next barrage with far more precision than the first bunch.

                “It’s _Lady_ Lyanna to you,” she stated coldly, swiping at his feet with one of her own.  The attempt startled Oberyn to the point where he almost stumbled, and his own block of her next strike was every bit as clumsy as her first blocks had been.  “You need to correct your grip, _m’lord_.”

                Her mocking drawl, using the incorrect title, made Oberyn smile wickedly, and when she swung her sword again, he forewent using his spear at all and instead danced around the swing, following in after it to pull her body against him, pinning her arm, and the sword she held, between their bodies.

                “You let your guard down,” he stated, and Lyanna let out an angry snarl that was more wolf than human, almost made Oberyn wonder if rumors and stories of Wargs were true, and then he laughed at himself for a fanciful fool.

                “Let me go!” Lyanna said, pulling away, and Oberyn pulled her a little closer.

                “You are wasted on that fool of a Baratheon,” he murmured before he swooped down, claimed her kips with his own.  She gasped against his mouth, and Oberyn took the opportunity to sweep his tongue inside, to taste her.  Lyanna froze at first, then, slowly, hesitantly, began to return the kiss.  Soon, it was with as much enthusiasm as Oberyn felt.  Yes, she was _wasted_ on Robert.  She would wilt and die married to such a man.  Lyanna Stark needed freedom. 

                Lyanna Stark needed _Dorne_.

                The thought so shocked Oberyn, that when Lyanna pulled away from him he didn’t even notice the way her eyes sparked until her hand had whirled around, slapped against his cheek, making his head turn with the force.

                “I think we shouldn’t do this again, m’lord,” Lyanna said, her voice shaking with an emotion Oberyn couldn’t quite peg, wasn’t sure he would be able to, even were he not recovering from the kiss himself.  She looked at him with a proud tilt of her head, whirled away and left him alone.

                “It’s _your highness_ ,” he said softly to her back, but otherwise made no move to stop her.  He brought his fingers to his lips, thought of things he thought during that kiss, and leaned against a tree to laugh and laugh and laugh.

                Curse the seven, but he was going to marry that woman.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! This OTP is both very easy to ship, because it's a total crack!ship, and very hard to ship, because it's a crack!ship.


End file.
